


Of the Daedric Lords & the End Times

by MaerqwathShadowsoul



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Fantasy, Elder Scrolls Lore, Gen, Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:11:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaerqwathShadowsoul/pseuds/MaerqwathShadowsoul
Summary: Once upon a time, I might have played one thousand hours of Skyrim. Might have. Yeah. Basic. This does not spoil much, just a quest here n' there and details of exploration and deities of the Elder Scrolls. Stuff like that.





	Of the Daedric Lords & the End Times

Poetry and story based on the Elder Scrolls

Of the Daedric Lords & the End Times

 

The price for arcane knowledge greater than this life, is to be given a task of delving deep into the thousands of years old perilous structures of the once mighty Dwemer, now filled with automaton spiders, spheres and centurions along with the horrendous Falmer, once insightful Snow Elves, now blind predators with a ultimately heightened hearing sense and thirst for mortal blood.

This much I was taught by the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate, Hermaeus Mora..

The path leading to the blackest of all stars lies within the dark safety of the mysterious realm of Apocrypha, where nothing.. is in a perfect order.

Wavering; ever-changing tunnels.. seekers.. hiding within shadows.. lurkers.. rising from pools of black madness.. 

I have read all of the Black Books, their great insanity I have felt,  
and I tried to forsake his knowledge, but in the end..  
an ominous trade was made - blood for even more power.

 

Murky events involving disappearances,  
grave desecration and even murder,  
the city of Markarth is no longer safe,  
it's underground tunnels and chambers  
are plagued by the presence of Namira,  
the Daedric Prince of Flesh, Decay and Cannibalism,  
whose dark apprentices will stop at nothing  
in their quest to feast upon the rotting dead,  
her will is absolute and horrid for those residing in Tamriel,  
yet it shall all end tonight, o' darkest ancient one of the shadowy spirits.

 

Enter the old manor long-since abandoned,  
shunned by so many, only to be teleported  
into another dimension, a lackey made his decision,  
and I was not at all prepared for what I then saw.. in that vision..  
become a reality for an eternity.. madness never ends.. it never ends..

Even I knew not what to expect,  
when I was suddenly standing in a clearing,  
and there, in front of a long dining table,  
upon a fancy chair sat Sheogorath,  
the Unpredictable Daedric Prince of Madness  
along with Pelagius Septim the Third,  
once the Mad Emperor, now merely a ghost of his former self,  
though he never had all of the books resting firmly  
upon the shelves in the first place, so let us play, mortal,  
boldly declared the horrifically delirious one!

Above in the sky flies Alduin, Harbinger of the End Times,  
shouting at the storms, all time be stopped,  
ring the Sovngarde's bell, let it's promised chimes echo,  
may the words of power learned help me win the war.

 

Like a whirlwind, I run on clouds of the sky,  
even if only for a while,  
the mountains I climb  
until I reach the top,  
to see the world of Nirn wide open,  
to find ruins and forgotten monuments  
belonging to the celestial gods  
called the Nine Divines, o' ancient heroes  
of the proud Nords, help me send Alduin,  
the World-Eater back beyond space and time,  
all must not fall, we must stand tall  
at the eve of our hour of triumph.

Med aan wuld, zu'u ru nau gram do fin lok!

WULD-NAH-KEST!

Read the rites from the Elder Scroll of Blood,  
hymn of the fallen greets the chosen one,  
here beside the pride of Shor, the hall of Sovngarde,  
the battle begins only to end to the death of a great dragon.

The generations to come  
need not to fear the return of winged ones,  
evil, intriguing and many  
are the legendary Daedric Lords,  
and some of them would have gladly..  
watched the whole of Skyrim burn.

TIID-KLO-UL! 

Let time stand completely still..  
across the world  
of mortals, dragons and demons.

Afar, the Greybeards stare into the horizon in silence,  
wild explosions of magic and wind, let the battle commence,  
all Nords brave gather upon the shores of Skyrim to witness,  
as the warrior spirits are saved, it finally ends..  
by the Elder Scrolls, Alduin the World-Eater is dead,  
say farewell to the last age of draconian darkness.

 

Vampires are a real menace,  
the scourge is fought with a cure,  
hunt the diseased down, wherever they are,  
darkened are the End Times for the pure..

 

A servant hooded stood by Azura's starry divine shrine,  
for long had she awaited a champion's arrival,  
the cause is to serve the Queen of the Night Sky,  
and her mercifully dark ideals, yet wrath be swift,  
if Moonshadow of blurred colors is in danger,  
the night could yet end in blood,  
proceed from dusk to dawn,  
o' loyal messenger of the Lady of Twilight.

The Black Star of Azura, a soul gem with so much potential,  
yet I do not wish to use another creature's vital force  
as the source of my own powers, for once there was an arch mage,  
who so much desired for immortality, that he decided to trap himself  
within the Star itself, becoming one with it, and thus, he needed to be banished..  
somewhere into the darkness of Oblivion, wherein he truly belongs.

 

Vaermina, your cruel ways of darker magic  
ended for now, when you dared to lay claim  
upon the memories and dreams  
of those residing in the city of Dawnstar,  
to make them your own, and you indeed aimed high,  
yet in the end, all of your plans were spoiled by me,  
the Dragonborn, and with your precious artifact,  
Skull of Corruption, the source of all haunting nightmares destroyed,  
no more shall you harm the innocent, let them dream again,  
to remember, no good deed of the day done in vain,  
I respect the Daedric Lords, yet I do not blindly serve,  
for I have the nerve to challenge them at their very shrines,  
one of my shouts means to be marked for death, I stalk, I prey,  
yet never shall I pray for the Night Mother,  
because her wishes are so deadly and dreadful,  
that only a foolish lunatic would sign up to do her dark bidding.

 

TIID-KLO-UL! Let time stand completely still in this world of mortals, dragons and demons.

 

I accidentally stumbled upon the entrance leading  
to a stronghold belonging to the Orsimer,  
more commonly known as Orcs,  
whose lives had for long been plagued by a curse  
issued by Malacath the Ferocious,  
the God-King of all Orcs,  
their chief in command, Yamarz,  
was supposed to travel to Giant's Grove,  
and slay all of the arrogant giants dwelling within,  
whom for long had been defiling Malacath's shrine  
with their presence and actions, yet in the end,  
the colossal monsters fell to my arrows glassy and sharp,  
but there was no reward to be claimed.. only betrayal.

Is it not known, how or when Malacath acquired it unto his possession,  
but to those who would wish to wield the might of a two-handed weapon,  
his great hammer, Volendrung, is as deadly as weapons come,  
for it has the innate ability to drain it's opponents stamina,  
leaving one so powerless, unable to flee, that after one single swing,  
they fall, their bodies fail them, yet I am no raging warrior,  
so may destiny choose it's next wielder, as I now leave the artifact  
unto a frost dragon's care, which knows my power and fame,  
for I am Alyssarian de Lyminth, a traveler with a dragon's soul,  
the lady of archery, time, mountains and stealth, the Last Dragonborn.

 

From this point onward, I shall be exploring ancient and dangerous Dwemer ruins in my quest to find all of the four pieces of Aetherium, which when combined together into an artifact, would then become the key in uncovering the secrets of the mythical Aetherium Forge, of which hidden entrance is said to be located near the Ruins of Bthalft.

 

Mephala the Webspinner prays in the name of lies,  
misery and bloodshed, her wicked ways always  
lead to dead ends in means of choices.

Follow her, and the keys to damnation shall be yours forever,  
the Ebony Blade hungers for mortal anguish,  
yet I was never meant to be the one to grant it such a dreaded wish.

Vanish, o' Daedric Prince of Deception and Secrets,  
I shall never serve you, for without a moment's hesitation,  
you would mislead the youth upon a path of true peril.

The personal home of Jarl Balgruuf,  
Dragonsreach, is quite a sight, so exquisite,  
always filled with people and occasional music,  
yet some secrets may still be found from among  
all that eating, laughing and talking,  
such as Mephala's whispering door of secrets,  
which is located.. down in the basement.

Her cunningness, limitless, her cruelty, unmatched,  
she lures children with a tendency for violence  
to gather in front of this gateway to the mortal land of Skyrim,  
to listen.. to the Night Mother, to feel.. darkly inspired,  
yet ever so evil and treacherous, for her words.. are truly venomous. 

 

After exploring over one hundred perilous caves and ancient ruins, I have come to recognize the aggressive Hagravens and their servants, the Forsworn, as a very grave threat, one which must be dealt with at all costs. My new bow was crafted from the finest Ebony Ingots, sharpened with a grindstone, improved archery, no short of assets, my arrows always.. find their evil and rightful targets.

 

I know why the Blades would wish to see all dragons dead and gone,  
yet what they are now asking for simply just cannot be done,  
Delphine, you should have been more forgiving in the end,  
for I shall now walk away, Paarthurnax if anyone deserves peace,  
to be left alone, because for a very long time, he has been making amends  
with himself and the world, to be forgiven the atrocities he once committed,  
he became the Grand Master of the Greybeards, and that of the Thu'um,  
the Voice, and there he meditates daily atop Monahven, the Throat of the World,  
never forgetting the days now long-forgotten by man, those days.. so dark and cold.

 

Three of the eight Dovah-Sonaak masks I have already acquired,  
many towers and shipwrecks filled with blood-thirsty bandits I have raided,  
always sneaking from a place to another, in stealth, fully prepared,  
my quiver is always full of arrows, I was born to fear nothing.. not even the dead.

Each time I shoot an arrow from the string of my bow, Zephyr,  
time slows down significantly, as the forehead of a giant is pierced,  
fall to break the earth beneath, the night always looks after it's shadows,  
a mountain is crossed only by riding the winds, shouting, challenging,  
the dragons, led by Alduin are trying to overtake the land of Skyrim,  
so boldly step forth, Dovahkiin, for the fire of the old days burns within,  
strengthened is your will to climb atop Monahven, to stand on it's highest rim.

STRUN-BAH-QO, let the wrathful storm of lightning reign the sky!

Read the rites from the Elder Scroll,  
hymn of the fallen greets the chosen one,  
here beside the pride of Shor, the hall of Sovngarde,  
the event of end unfolds for all of it in time to be retold.

The generations to come  
need not to fear the return of dragons,  
evil, intriguing and many are the legendary Daedric Lords,  
and some of them would have gladly watched the world burn.

O' Akatosh and the Nine Divines,  
blessed be your mercy upon me,  
for foolishly I nearly set  
the Daedric Prince of Ambition  
and Destruction free.

A descendant of the Mythic Dawn,  
merely a higher and powerful one's pawn,  
and so, the Mehrunes Razor of instant death  
was coldly shattered again, and cast off into the unknown  
from the edge of the tall Skyborn Mountain,  
which houses Mehrunes Dagon's unholy  
and heavily guarded shrine of coldness and pain.

 

'You could have had all the riches of Oblivion, mortal. All you had to do was to take the life of your guide for the Mehrunes Razor to achieve it's full potential as an Daedric Artifact. Pitiful. I shall continue following your actions from the shadows, hoping to see you fail at every single turn. If I had a physical form, I would come and break you down to every last bone, yet that.. is not possible at this time. What I can do, however, is send more of my elite Daedra your way, to thwart your.. progress. The wrath of Mehrunes Dagon is upon you now!'

 

Blackened eyes shining, clarified,  
the Daedric Princes/Lords have gained a servant loyal,  
her artifact of luminous light I boldly retrieved,  
and yet, she did not reward me with sweet betrayal.

A sword was given, the break of dawn it could call upon,  
o' Meridia, I am become ye Draugr-slaying champion,  
my will is iron, and so are the heads of my bloodied arrows,  
spectres wailing haunt the woods and animals hiding in their burrows.

 

Above, fly Alduin, Harbinger of the End Times,  
shouting at the storms, all time be stopped,  
ring Sovngarde's high bell, let them echo, it's promised chimes,  
may the words of power learned help me win the war.

Afar, the Greybeards stare into the horizon in silence,  
wild explosions of fire, magic and wind, let the battle commence,  
all Nords brave gather upon the shores of Skyrim to witness,  
as the warrior spirits are saved, it is finally over..  
by the Elder Scrolls, Alduin the World-Eater is dead,  
and so it ends at long last, the last Age of Draconian Darkness.

 

An ancient shout of power echoes in the sky  
The call is for me, because I alone can fully understand it's dark meaning  
And just beneath the colorless clouds, I see the black ravens fly  
I quickly form a circle of magic to begin the summoning

There is death in the air  
I am here for a purpose  
No one could possibly follow my trail  
This is the day of reckoning  
I am servitude, from my own free will I do this  
I am no broken, weak spirit!  
I conjure all of my wicked and evil thoughts  
And bring them to life  
My blood will have to be enough  
Oh, I can feel the thirstiness of my ritual knife!

And with my sheer iron will, I raise the runic statues  
From under ice and snow  
I speak the right words.. I call upon the spirits of doom  
I slit my right hand's palm..

My blood runs cold, it flows for you.. Heed my call!  
Behold, the true Gods reborn!  
They are like mountains, all flesh, splendor in their form!  
As giants they walk among us now!  
And before their unbridled might, we all shall bow!  
Open The Gates of Oblivion!  
Unleash Mehrunes Dagon the Destroyer and all other Daedric Princes/Lords!  
Paint the sky with the red color of chaos!  
Serve them well, let them bring about the end of this world!

 

The wilderness is full of perils,  
yet Kyne's Peace keeps me safe,  
sabre cats and their waitful preying,  
if they will not obey,  
then I can shout them down the cliff,  
or the edge of a high mountain,  
along with frost trolls ferocious  
and frostbite spiders venomous.

FUS-RO-DAH!

Your Voice becomes an unstoppable force; a wave of pure and balanced spirit energy, which can push anything or anyone aside from it's way.

Hircine's spirit wanders free in the eyes of the beasts,  
he who gifted the mankind with lycanthropy,  
ice wolves are on my trail, once again, I have to sprint..  
like a whirlwind, fly across the air over the edge,  
beneath lies a deep pit, and the fall could break anyone,  
instead, call forth wings, take flight, the sky is calling,  
as patience evolves into unity, the resolve to see things through,  
it is the Dragonborn's calling, to cleanse this Nordic land off all evil.

 

Paralyzed, lying cold upon the floor of a cave,  
there is still some honor among the thieves it seems,  
none should be killed, no doors nor windows broken,  
only locks to be picked, no fingerprints to be collected,  
no footsteps to be heard, no evidence to be handled,  
only shadows and silence, and minds left utterly confused.

Offerings of the Temple of Mara, no time for love,  
gold, idols and unique artifacts, all ripe for the taking,  
a master of stealth and pickpocketing in the making,  
no king, noble nor priest should feel himself safe,  
as a tidal wave of crime washes over the land of Skyrim,  
freeing it's many holds off the weight of Septims and riches.

Such is the will of Nocturnal,  
the Daedric Prince of Night and Darkness,  
the revered Mistress of Shadows and Luck,  
for through her darkly guiding ways and influence,  
us thieves seek to lead a prosperous life  
without guilt nor regrets,  
with an early retirement in mind,  
eyes always open,  
keep to the shadows,  
never be caught,  
never be seen.

You are a ghost, a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher,  
a deal has been struck, a Nightingale now and forever.

 

The end? Probably not.


End file.
